


The Party

by Hannibals_Jorts



Series: Like Cracked Porcelain [4]
Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Clothes, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Domestic Fluff, Egyptology, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Food, Interior Decorating, Love, Other, Party Planning, Redecorating, Reunions, Romance, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibals_Jorts/pseuds/Hannibals_Jorts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ferdinand has planned the event of the season - the introduction of John Clare to society. He has 'borrowed' several items from the museum's basement; the food's ready, the drinks are poured, and all that remains is for the guests to arrive. However, no one told Sir Malcolm about the engagement...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Party

**Author's Note:**

> I like writing these people happy, in beautiful surroundings. That's it, really. :D

Nothing allowed Ferdinand his full range of expression like a party… Especially a party that _he_ had orchestrated.

Sir Malcolm’s small ballroom was transformed. The curtains had been replaced with yards of gold and black satin, so that each tall casement resembled a sarcophagus. Six large Kentia palms with sweeping emerald fronds were set into sandstone urns at precise locations, creating tiny, intimate alcoves ideal for escaping the press of the crowd. Gone were the dull portraits on the wall, and in their places some of Ferdinand’s favorite papyri hung, depicting languid scenes of Egyptian royal life. At the far end of the room was a table covered with more treasures: carved ivory combs, gold and ebony statues of animal-headed deities, bejeweled scarabs, and necklaces bearing chrysoberyl, amber, and turquoise stones.

Ferdinand stood in the open doors of the ballroom, his hands steepled before his face as he swept an eye over the room, mentally ticking off the final details.

_The food is prepared and set out on the dishes, drinks are standing by on the sideboard with relevant glassware and flatware, everyone has RSVP’d ...and now we only await our first guests._

Footsteps sounded behind him.

“It’s beautiful,” Vanessa breathed, her eyes alight. Radiant in a gown of black muslin with gold accents, she stood alongside her intended, John Clare. He wore a suit of black linen with subtle white pinstripes, and a vest of black embroidered with dark gold thread. “You’ve outdone yourself, my dear Mr. Lyle!”

“Oh Miss Ives, how you flatter,” Ferdinand preened, twirling his mustache and straightening a ring on his pinky finger. He was resplendent in dark brown velvet with blue silk accents.  “Once one begins plundering priceless treasures it’s so easy to get carried away. No wonder we English have been doing it for centuries.”

She raised an amused eyebrow.

“And of course, it was so easy when one has a tireless assistant,” Ferdinand said, taking Clare by the arm. “I just kept pointing at things in the museum basement and he just kept picking them up and carrying, no matter what or how heavy. If only my wife were so accommodating when I shop with her!”

“Thank you, Mr. Lyle.” The yellow, owlish eyes crinkled as Clare smiled down at him. “I was glad to help.”

“Yes… he _is_ rather tireless,” Vanessa agreed, taking his other arm.  

Vanessa and Clare shared a look that made the pale man blink and drop his eyes, a shy smile curling his lips.

 _Oh my! How delightfully risqué._ Ferdinand pretended innocence to the remark’s ribald meaning. _Bless the poor man, he can’t even blush properly._

"Foodwise," Ferdinand said, warming to the topic, "We've continued with the exotic theme. Figs stuffed with goat cheese and black pepper, honeyed dates, roasted lamb with harissa, roasted vegetables tossed in spices..." 

"How you've spoiled us," Vanessa said, taking Clare's hand. 

Ferdinand waved a magnanimous hand. "I do try. Heaven knows we've had enough misery and bad news. And I was so happy to hear that Sir Murray is back." 

She nodded, but a shadow crossed her fine features. "Yes... he arrived this morning. I haven't seen him yet, though. He went straight into his room without a word. I knocked, but he said he would be out when he was ready." 

"I hope he approves," Clare said. 

Vanessa tilted her head up at him. "He will. In some ways he is as unbending as an oak; but in others, he can be quite supple." 

Crisp shoes tapped on the floor behind them and Sir Malcolm appeared, dapper as ever. 

 _Oh my... I suppose we shall find out now!_ Ferdinand's heart gave a flutter. 

Sir Malcolm made to greet them, but his eyes lifted to the room beyond. “Oh!” he murmured.

Ferdinand resisted the urge to fidget.

_He walked right past Clare without even looking at him…_

Sir Malcolm passed the trio, his attention fixed on the redecorated ballroom. His aristocratic head turned as he took in details; he peered closely at a papyrus, ran his fingers along the fronds of a plant, and examined the necklaces on the table. He ran an elegant finger along the neck and ear of a reclining cat of carved jasper.

Ferdinand glanced at Vanessa, who was watching Malcolm’s examination with a curious, expectant look.

At length, Malcolm turned back. “Extraordinary! This room has risen from the dead,” he exclaimed.

Vanessa aimed at reassuring glance at Ferdinand before replying to her adopted father, “Welcome back, Sir Malcolm. We've missed you.”

“Vanessa? Professor Lyle?” Malcolm looked at them as if seeing them for the first time.

“Hallo, Sir Malcolm!” Ferdinand said, waving cheerily at him. 

Malcolm crossed the room and caught Vanessa up in his arms. "My God, it is good to see you again," he cried, setting her down. 

"And you, Mr. Lyle." He shook Ferdinand’s hand in his rough, callused one… and then reached Mr. Clare.

The sharp green eyes blinked. “And this is…?”

“John Clare, Sir Murray.” To his credit, Clare stood up straight and met Malcolm’s firm gaze with one just as unwavering.

"Mr. Clare." The two shook hands.

 _Gracious. Murray’s probably never encountered a handshake stonier than his own,_ Ferdinand mused, his own knuckles still smarting. The way Clare had lifted the heavy crates when helping Ferdinand had left little doubt concerning the man’s physical strength.

“Sir Malcolm, this is my friend and beloved,” Vanessa said, raising her head slightly. “This event is in his honor.”

_Wait… she’s his ward! He must know she is engaged, surely she wrote to tell him...?_

Murray’s emerald gaze bored into Clare’s golden one.

_Oh dear…_

“Mr. Clare,” Murray intoned. With precise, specific movements, he bowed his head. “Welcome to the family.”

Ferdinand released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. _Oh, thank God. For a moment I thought I’d be caught between two angry bulls. One can only take so much manly forcefulness!_

There came a knock at the front door.

“I’ll see who it is,” Malcolm said, releasing Clare’s hand. He stepped away to the door.

Freed from Murray’s gaze, Clare reached into the pocket of his coat for something: a pair of glasses with smoked-glass lenses.

_Oh, he had those on the other day when he came to help me at the museum. He seemed so confident with them; he said they were a present from her._

“Do-do you think I should wear these?” Clare asked Vanessa. "For the party?" 

She took his hand. “If you feel more comfortable, by all means. But these are all people who know you, who accept you. Anyone who comes into this house tonight and can’t meet your gaze, will be discreetly asked to leave. It will be _they_ who are wrong.” The fierce blue eyes flicked toward Ferdinand. “Wouldn’t you say that’s fair, Mr. Lyle?”

Ferdinand nodded, beaming up at Clare. “Of course! The guest list was carefully prepared and approved. We'll have _no_ nonsense tonight! Except the usual amount, perhaps.”

“Very well.” Clare's long white fingers slipped the glasses back into his breast pocket.

From the hallway came the sound of a voice, rising and falling in dramatic declension. “By all means, you may see my invitation, good Sir! I assure you, I am not some wandering wastrel, washed up on your doorstep!”

“My my, there seems to be a theatrical at the door,” Ferdinand observed.

Clare lit up with excitement. “Vincent!” 

An aging actor in a threadbare suit appeared. He smelled of drink and his steps were uncertain. Tiny gray curls covered his head, and his nose was webbed with the broken capillaries of the dedicated drinker.

Watery eyes spotted Vanessa, and he swept off a hat. “Madame, please allow me a courtly bow, to thank you for such a generous invitation! I am not worthy of such acclaim!”

“Of course.” She gave him an encouraging smile and gestured that he might.

His courtly bow gained speed halfway down and became a topple. Clare stepped forward and caught the old thespian before the application of face to floor.

The bleary eyes looked up. “Good God! _Caliban?”_

“Vincent, welcome!” Clare said, lifting the man to his feet and steadying him. “My name is John Clare, now.”

Vincent allowed his gaze to wander around the room. He took in the fine clothes and trappings, his mouth gaping. “Good heavens! Is this _your_ event?”

“It is _our_ event, Vincent,” Clare said, letting go of Vincent to touch Vanessa's arm.

Vincent’s hand rose to his mouth. The wetness in his eyes clarified to tears of joy. “My my, you certainly landed on your feet! I shall have to hear all about it! Perhaps you’d like to hear my tale of woe, of how some dreadful philistines shot up my beautiful theater! _Shot it up_ , I say!”

“How ghastly! Yes, please, we must catch up,” Clare said, leading Vincent further into the ballroom, to the sideboard where bottles of alcohol sparkled.

Ferdinand watched them go. “Goodness, an old actor.”

“My love’s past is somewhat checkered,” Vanessa said, smiling. “But the same could be said for all of us.”

Ferdinand waved a hand. “Oh, I wasn’t remarking upon his station. I was just hoping we’ve got enough spirits on hand. Between him and my wife I’d say we’re going to be out of gin in about an hour.”

Vanessa raised a curious eyebrow. “Is your wife coming? She didn’t RSVP.”

He nodded. “She never does. It’s a little game we play, so we never know what to expect from each other. Keeps us on our toes.”


End file.
